Uncle Tom's Cabin eBook

It was towards the middle of the afternoon, as she
was so reclining,—­her Bible half open,
her little transparent fingers lying listlessly between
the leaves,—­suddenly she heard her mother’s
voice, in sharp tones, in the verandah.

“What now, you baggage!—­what new
piece of mischief! You’ve been picking
the flowers, hey?” and Eva heard the sound of
a smart slap.

“Law, Missis! they ’s for Miss Eva,”
she heard a voice say, which she knew belonged to
Topsy.

“Miss Eva! A pretty excuse!—­you
suppose she wants your flowers, you good-for-nothing
nigger! Get along off with you!”

In a moment, Eva was off from her lounge, and in the
verandah.

“O, don’t, mother! I should like
the flowers; do give them to me; I want them!”

“Why, Eva, your room is full now.”

“I can’t have too many,” said Eva.
“Topsy, do bring them here.”

Topsy, who had stood sullenly, holding down her head,
now came up and offered her flowers. She did
it with a look of hesitation and bashfulness, quite
unlike the eldrich boldness and brightness which was
usual with her.

“It’s a beautiful bouquet!” said
Eva, looking at it.

It was rather a singular one,—­a brilliant
scarlet geranium, and one single white japonica, with
its glossy leaves. It was tied up with an evident
eye to the contrast of color, and the arrangement of
every leaf had carefully been studied.

Topsy looked pleased, as Eva said,—­“Topsy,
you arrange flowers very prettily. Here,”
she said, “is this vase I haven’t any flowers
for. I wish you’d arrange something every
day for it.”

“Well, that’s odd!” said Marie.
“What in the world do you want that for?”

“Never mind, mamma; you’d as lief as not
Topsy should do it,—­had you not?”

“Of course, anything you please, dear!
Topsy, you hear your young mistress;—­see
that you mind.”

Topsy made a short courtesy, and looked down; and,
as she turned away, Eva saw a tear roll down her dark
cheek.

“You see, mamma, I knew poor Topsy wanted to
do something for me,” said Eva to her mother.

“O, nonsense! it’s only because she likes
to do mischief. She knows she mustn’t pick
flowers,—­so she does it; that’s all
there is to it. But, if you fancy to have her
pluck them, so be it.”

“Mamma, I think Topsy is different from what
she used to be; she’s trying to be a good girl.”

“She’ll have to try a good while before
she gets to be good,” said Marie, with
a careless laugh.

“Well, you know, mamma, poor Topsy! everything
has always been against her.”

“Not since she’s been here, I’m
sure. If she hasn’t been talked to, and
preached to, and every earthly thing done that anybody
could do;—­and she’s just so ugly,
and always will be; you can’t make anything of
the creature!”

“But, mamma, it’s so different to be brought
up as I’ve been, with so many friends, so many
things to make me good and happy; and to be brought
up as she’s been, all the time, till she came
here!”